


before, during & afterwards

by k8 (paintedmaypole)



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-20
Updated: 2003-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-18 14:39:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedmaypole/pseuds/k8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no beginning because they've always known each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	before, during & afterwards

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Alexandria Brown for SeSa 2003. Thanks to Katie, Kel, and Sandy the Younger for the betabeta. Also, heaps of thanks to Georgina and Pet for organizing, coding, and putting heaps of time, energy, and patience into [Don We Now Our Gay Apparel](http://www.juppy.org/santa/by_alpha.php) back in the day.

[I]

Justin's least favorite Christmas Carol is "Santa Baby." He doesn't have a favorite but he at least knows what he dislikes. It's become a thing, though, because at some point, some winter, it was playing in some clothing place, a store they were in, maybe a Sears. No, not a Sears, because Justin can't remember ever being in a Sears, probably a Macy's.

There were jeans, racks of them, and Joey was pulling on dark ones and trying on different belts with wide buckles. Justin was distracted by the way Joey's ass looked when he hopped on the balls of his toes and zipped up, by the way Joey adjusted the buckle, and by the motion of his hands when he pulled his belt free. Then the music changed and the song came on. Justin scowled a bit and Joey looked up in the mirror catching Justin frowning at his ass and sporting a lump in his pants.

They were good jeans, well fitted. Justin can't remember if Joey bought them or not. Maybe Lou sent them over later and Justin never noticed.

Only, the song. Justin remembers feeling caught. He remembers attempting a recovery, muttering "I hate this song," and looking around for a way to leave the room. Only, it was just a room, one area where they were and two racks of pants for them to look at. So he stood there and tried to just casually slide over to a rack of jackets, over and away from the pants and to look preoccupied.

Joey didn't let it go. Joey never lets anything go. It's his new favorite toy for a month and even now, months after, Joey will move over, all into Justin's space, rub Justin's shoulder and sing "been an awful good girl" in a slow thick voice into Justin's ear and shakes his hips at him. And Justin can't even try to tune Joey out or ignore him, because the other reason why he hates the song, the main reason why he hates the song, is because it will never ever ever leave his head once he hears it. Which just means it's stuck there, all day and into the night, right with the feeling of Joey's fingers rubbing on his shoulders.

[II]

Joey hates the way he's easy. The way, when someone pushes him, he'll never give, but he never wants to push back either. They've hit Germany, a million opinions about Lance flying at them from every direction, and Joey doesn't know what to do or to say, he just knows he would rather be singing. Lance doesn't talk about it, doesn't say much at all, and Joey keeps saying at lunch, at dinner, at breakfast that they'll figure something out, keeps repeating that they'll work out a plan, but he doesn't know what the hell that will look like until he's sitting down with Justin's mom, Lou, and some weasely-looking company rep who brings up Lance for the fifty millionth time, only this time Justin looks up and over at Chris and Chris nods back at him, winks, and then just says, "No."

Joey hates how easy that came for him. Or how easy he made it look.

Joey hates the way he misses things, little details. Like how Justin always knows when it's getting to be too much. When to talk to Chris, to stop him, to touch his shoulder and say, "Hey. Hey," with just the right inflection on it. Just enough to make Chris take a breath, sit down and to make the air settle until everything feel less charged. Or how Justin always knows when speak up, when to give JC feedback and when he needs to be left alone with the door to the practice room firmly closed.

Joey also hates his nose when he looks in the mirror and the way the girls always talk to him, but always ask about JC first. Or when he doesn't feel like girls, when he wants to go out and dance with a guy, how he now has to hide it.

He hates German beer, no matter how expensive, and that they wanted them to appear with midgets on German television. He hates warm milk and European version of pizza crust. He hates the way they have to perform and perform and perform and Justin still never messes up his back flip. He hates the stiff sheets on the motel beds and how, even if it is for charity, he's never going to be good at basketball.

He misses home. He hasn't talked to his parents for more than ten minutes in the past two weeks and he feels like it's been a year since he's actually seen them. Lance is sick, Justin is avoiding him, constantly avoiding him, and Joey is tired. It's raining and he wants to go home.

[III]

There's no beginning because they've always known each other. There's just a point where Joey understands that he's being watched and takes it more seriously. There's no discussion because they understand each other. There's just a point to which Justin is flexible and on the rebound and doesn't really care any more about potential complications. There's no announcement because they all know one another. There's just a point where they go out one evening to perform and then come back together afterwards.

[IV]

The first time is in a hotel room in Japan and his mother's in the room next door. Sex with the lights on, every light, so Justin can see everything. Joey sits across from him, cross-legged, one hand on Justin's knee, rubbing, and the other handing him the condom. Justin tries to use his teeth to open the package (bad, Joey stops him). Justin remembers to check the expiration date (good, the school nurse made a point of it, during The Talk). Joey is under him this time, because he's careful, because he wants Justin to do it the other way first, because he wants it to be right. Justin pushing in, trying to hold himself up with one arm and grab Joey's cock with the other. Trying, until Joey laughs, pulls Justin down on top of him and mutters, "I can take the weight."

The next day Justin's mother wakes him up and Justin can't look her in the eye. The hotel room is bland, dull, everything's decorated brown or tan. The window shade is pulled back to let the light in, but she turns on the lamp (brown lampshade) and straightens the comforter (tan with brown flowers). She leans down to kiss Justin, to say good morning, and he wonders where Joey went, when he left.

  
Two nights later Justin is lying with his head towards the foot of the bed, the comforter flipped back, his chin up, neck back and stretched. Joey with two fingers inside of him, a third on the way, and lube spilled on Justin's stomach. It's hot, he feels hot, the room is hot and Joey is in in in him, all over him and it fucking hurts, but Justin thinks he wants more.

This time he's locked the connecting door from their end, he's sprawled across Joey who is panting, recovering, he's got his nose on Joey's chest and is not letting him leave. The next morning when Lynn begins to knock, Justin yells, "Okay! Thank you! All set! Great! See you at breakfast!" and drags Joey into the shower. Hot, damn it, because he's sore and he thinks he must be walking like an idiot cowboy or something, the way his calves feel just pulled open and out. But Joey has large hands, which are useful, and he kneels down and sucks Justin off slowly under the water, rubs the muscles in Justin's legs, pushes his thumbs up and down the insides of his calves, smoothes Justin down until there's nothing but a dull warm feeling left in his legs. Until he just feels too stretched.

[V]

Joey shows Justin how to make the perfect grilled cheese sandwich. For Joey, the perfect grilled cheese sandwich always involves rye bread or sourdough and cheddar cheese, not American. Justin's always asking him about the bread, why that bread, but it's how Joey's father made it for him and it's just what he likes best. Justin stands in the kitchen area of the bus and holds the bread, two slices in each hand, as Joey pulls open the door in the paneling and leans into their little refrigerator. He takes out the cheese and a tomato, then finds a knife and cuts a heap of cheese and six thin slices from the tomato.

"Here," Joey hands Justin the tub with margarine, "butter the outside of each slice, lightly."

The bus moves through a town somewhere in Minnesota, moving towards Minneapolis. It's raining and there's no soup, so grilled cheese is the only option. But there's no show that evening either, it's a quiet day.

Justin finishes buttering the slices and looks up at Joey again, smiling. "Okay," Joey smiles back. He leans against the cabinet and watches Justin's hands holding the plate. "Now we just put the bread into this pan, buttered side down." Justin nods at him. "Then we'll do the cheese and the tomato."

Justin plops each slice of bread down and Joey digs around for their lone spatula. He leaves the heat on medium-low and Justin finishes, arranging one-and-a-half round slices of tomato on top of the cheese on each piece of bread.

Later, when theyre done eating, Joey puts his plate down on the floor with Justin's, then turns so he can lean back on the seat and Justin can fit between his legs, lie back against Joey's chest and sleep. They just sit there all afternoon, CNN doing a story on assault rifles and the dangers of AK-47s in the background. Joey watches, Justin sleeps. He doesn't wake up until the bus reaches the hotel and Joey shakes his shoulder lightly with his left hand.

[VI]

Justin counts the beats it takes to move his arm. One, the twitch in his fingers makes him move his hand, index finger leading out. Two, Justin's hand moves up and, three, over, hand hovering above Joey's knee. Four, five, and six move Justin forward, thumb advancing up Joey's thigh. Seven-- he pauses to breathe, hesitating on, eight, further up, hands sliding onto Joey's belt. Nine, clutching the buckle, running his fingers over the metal. Ten, undoing the buckle and, then--

The zipper (eleven).

Twelve and on Justin loses count of when Joey turns him over, flips him back towards the head of the bed, opens his pants and breathes onto his crotch.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In rehearsal someone calls the beats. Or sometimes they're thumped out with a cane or a foot on the floor. But here it's just a hotel room, Joey breathing hard into Justin's shoulder. A hot, wet patch, circular, coming through the fabric of Justin's t-shirt onto his skin.

Justin watches for small details in the room. The lamp in the corner is turned on, the nightstand to his right has a pad on it and a gold pen.

"Hey." Joey's hand is thick on his cheek, his fingers are hot.

Justin lifts his head up, "move," and Joey does.

Justin can't tell if the rhythm is the headboard hitting the wall or his breathing. He can't tell if the pressure in his chest is from too little air or too much. He can't tell if Joey's pushing in to stay or pushing him to leave.

[VII]

"Hey," Joey looks up from across the sofa. "When was the last time you ate?"

"I ate some breakfast?" Justin frowns.

Joey shakes his head and sits up. "Give me your car keys." He grabs for his sweatshirt, pulling it over his head. "I'll get us some take out. How about a big thing of egg drop soup?"

"No, no," Justin shakes his head. "Let me just move my car."

Joey puts a hand out to stop him, but Justin stands up anyway and just looks around, confused.

"Where are my sneakers?"

"Hey," Joey says, "stay put. Really."

Justin bends down between the couch and the matching armchair and comes back up with his sneakers. "I'm fine. I'm feeling better. It's no hassle."

Joey starts putting his shoes on at the other end of the couch. "This is silly." He looks up from tying the left shoelace and Justin is ready, but he's also got two fingers that he's pressing into his forehead, wincing. "You're sick. Seriously, no."

"I'm okay," Justin stops rubbing his head, shakes it and stands up. He looks back at Joey and Joey's starting to frown at him.

"You don't want me driving your car." Joey peers at him as he says it. "Hey. You don't, do you?"

Justin blinks and then looks puzzled. "That's not true. No." Only there's a definite question mark at the end and Justin blinks at that as well; he probably didn't want the question mark there.

"You don't," Joey crosses his arms and nods to himself. "Huh."

Justin bites at his lip for a second, then stops himself. "It's not that I don't, okay? It's not that I don't, but it's been driven a lot lately. And why not just move it."

"Yeah," Joey picks up his chin a bit at that. "Yeah, that makes no sense."

"Well." Justin starts rubbing at his forehead again, he's had the headache all day, right with the cold or virus or whatever it is that's hitting him. "This isn't a thing, right? It's just that you're going to need to adjust the seat and then the mirrors and all that. Maybe the radio," he trails off. "I should have soup here. Why don't I just make us something?"

"Okay then," Joey shrugs, "if you'd rather." He sits back down on the couch and starts to pull off his shoes, concentrating on the laces.

Justin huffs out air with his lungs. There's no music playing, but he looks at the cd player for a moment in hope. "Joey, this isn't a thing. I'll make soup. And sandwiches maybe."

Justin heads out toward the kitchen, dragging his feet on the carpet. Joey smiles after him, once the room is cleared, then leans back on the sofa cushions. He gives Justin ten minutes.

  
"Okay, the car." Justin leans on the edge of the doorway, arms crossed and frowning. "So maybe I don't like people driving my car."

"Yeah," Joey nods at him, "I got that."

"Yeah, but it's a thing now." Justin looks displeased.

"Whatever, really," Joey shrugs. "You're allowed. It's like having separate toothpaste tubes in the bathroom so I get to squeeze mine from the middle."

"No," Justin shakes his head. "I don't think it's a thing like that. Just take the car, okay?"

"Hmm." Joey taps the arm of the couch and looks at Justin. "No. I think I shouldn't."

"No, I think you should."

"Well, now it's a matter of principle. Now I don't want to. Besides, you didn't seem too keen on Chinese food."

"No," Justin shakes his head. "I'm keen, really, egg drop soup sounds perfect." He moves back over to the couch and throws his keys down on his nice smooth glass coffee table.

The keys hit the one stack of magazines right smack in the middle and Joey stares at them, shaking his head again. "Nah."

Justin sighs loudly, but doesn't say anything. They dont talk for a beat or two and then Justin moves around a bit on the sofa and Joey doesn't point it out, but Justin's definitely closer than he was. Justin tips his head back and looks up at the ceiling. Joey watches Justin's throat move as he swallows, then Justin looks around again and seems to be attempting to subtly look for the box of tissues which is actually over by Joey's feet.

Joey kicks them over and Justin blows his nose and looks grateful, then Joey pounces. He pushes Justin over, back into the side of the couch, and holds his palm against the whole side of Justin's jaw as he kisses him.

Justin shakes his head at Joey, his skin is hot against Joey's wrist. "You're going to get sick if you do that."

"Whatever," Joey shrugs at him and leans in. Justin's mouth and lips are hot too and Joey hums for a moment as he pulls back, then he smiles. "So, I'll be back then."

Joey's grabbing Justin's keys and moving out the door before Justin can even throw a pillow at him or something. "Oh fuck you," Justin shouts after him, but he's too tired to do much more. He leans back against the cushion again and thinks about taking a nap. He listens for the front door, but then starts and looks up again when Joey pops back into the doorway.

"I promise to move the seat back, okay?" Joey stops smiling and looks more serious. "I mean that."

"Yes," Justin nods at him. "Okay," and the front door closes about thirty-three seconds later.

[VIII]

Justin finally starts the fight during a business meeting. They're tense and terse before the meeting, after the meeting and even the day after that. Then, halfway through a car ride to Joey's and a fight about leaving cell phones on during meetings, Joey stops talking and Justin just nods at his flattened out expression, packs a duffle, and drives back to his actual "owned by Justin Randall Timberlake" home and residence.

They don't speak for three more days, almost four, until Justin calls Joey at 8:03 pm, staring at his alarm clock as he punches the numbers, hard, into his cell.

Joey knows it's him, of course, and Justin talks first before he can say anything. "We promised we wouldn't do this to them."

"I agree."

"Okay then."

"Well."

"You give me space for a week, I'll give you a space for a week." Justin can hear Joey swallow. "Is that enough time for you?"

"I can do that."

Justin nods as Joey says it too, but no one can really see that part.

Then they don't talk for seven days and it's weird, very weird. The sheets are cool again on Justin's feet in the corners of the bed and the comforter stays tucked in against the foot of the bed for days after he makes it. He calls Chris a lot, which helps, until eventually Chris just makes him bring the duffle over to his place and stay in his guestroom for the rest of the week and a few more days after. That helps too. A week after that, on a Tuesday, everyone reconvenes, discusses financing, and no one says a word. When Justin gets back into his car to drive away, he sits for a minute and thinks, "The end."

[IX]

Joey has half an eye on a girl in the corner. He spotted her partway through his second drink, but then she hopped up to dance with a blond kid wearing a horrible red shirt and suddenly was much less interesting for Joey to look at. They've made their way in to round four now though and when Joey puts down his shot glass and looks over, she's back in her spot and looking bored.

He nudges at Steve who's conveniently at his elbow and nods over at her. "Yes?"

Steve looks over, head twisting less casually than Joey's, but then again Steve always gets hit by the alcohol faster. He shrugs at Joey. "Why not?"

They watch for a little and Joey catches the moment the girl notices their attention, just from the way her back stiffens and her hand stops and then quickly restarts tapping. She stirs at the ice in her drink, tosses a bit more of it back, and then looks to Joey's left, moving her head smoothly, like she's scanning the room and taking a survey of the box's contents. When she hits Joey, smirks, and raises an eyebrow at him, she looks so much like Justin that all Joey can to do is laugh at himself.

[X]

There's a group meeting in LA, because the time has come for meetings. Justin's got an album winding down, JC's got an album winding up, and everyone's either focused on something or itching to be. The first meeting is just a check in, royalties and a merchandising issue or two. They meet up at Lance's afterwards for dinner and everyone's talking at once and at double speed to catch up. Chris is halfway through a very Chris-like tale about some dream he's had where Justin was wearing a sombrero and visiting Chris at some job he had at Sea World. A talking manatee appears at some point and Chris is disturbed because he winds up trying to kill the manatee with a golf club he keeps in his closet. JC tells him he should be disturbed, that, personally, he's rather concerned, and then moves further away on the sofa until Chris almost believes he's serious, which just makes JC's evening.

It's good, nothing less than good. They order pizza and fight over whether a half-cheese and half-sausage pizza is acceptable or not for the sausage hater (Justin) and the no-topping hater (Chris). No one really wants to talk about the album so they don't, mostly. Except for the part where they're all thinking about it.

Joey watches Justin as he eats and Justin's watching Chris. He's watching like he wants them to be talking, but it's Chris' call to speak first. Only Chris isn't, he won't, and Justin's knee is starting to twitch like the blinking urgent message light on Joey's cell phone. Joey watches Justin while he can, quietly, concentrating on updating his memory banks. Justin's looking older, much older. It's something in his eyes and in the way he no longer pauses to look at Chris or Joey in the middle of a sentence. Lance is talking low into his cell phone in the corner and Joey can't tell who he's talking to anymore, just by listening to his tone of voice. Then Justin meets Joey's eyes, young again just for a minute and Joey nods back at him, just in case Justin needs to see it.

"Okay," Justin smiles and clears his throat, "are we going to talk about this? I think we should try to talk about this."

Lance says two or three short words into his phone and then snaps it shut. JC sits forward and looks slightly relieved, they all look at Chris and there's a pause. A long pause.

Until Chris laughs. "I'm not starting this anymore. That stopped being my responsibility a long time ago." Chris reaches over to the coffee table between the couches and closes the pizza box. "You want I should get us a talking stick or something?"

Joey shakes his head. "Okay," he shoots a look around to all of them and Justin smiles back at him. "I'm just going to say what I'm thinking."

Justin holds up his hand for a moment. "Why don't we all just say what we're thinking and take it from there."

"Okay then," Joey nods, "I guess I'll just start."

[XI]

Justin has only encountered four homeless people-- that he can remember at least. This is, of course, from the time he became a celebrity and ignoring the little bit in-between where it stopped and where he wasn't really, at least not much. It's also ignoring the weird bit where he was trying to be one and then the part when he was famous in Germany, but no one in the U.S. really cared. The point is, the points that he thinks about, are that, one, four seems like an awfully small number to have met and, two, that there was a time when homeless people were normal, a regular sort of normal, but then Justin hit a level of famous where he wasn't ever going to be normal again and then they all disappeared.

Theoretically, he knows they're just one symptom in the whole. Theoretically, he also lost shopping in malls on the weekend, the joys of working in a cubicle, and telemarketers calling at dinner about his credit card plan. But ultimately, what he thinks about is that he's not sure what he'd do if he was asked for a quarter, or what people would expect him to drop into the cup. And what if it was a test?

It's five am and Justin's still not asleep. He's sitting on a pink sofa in a hotel room and telling all this to Joey because he's about to turn 24 and it's got to mean something, got to signify something bigger. He's also a little drunk, just a little tipsy, and he may have encountered a fifth homeless person today, in the morning, because the car was stopped at a traffic light and there was a guy walking up and down between the cars, selling brown post card photographs that said "London, 1847."

It might not count, they didn't interact per se, Justin's not sure and it bothers him. Only Joey's laughing at him, just a little, and shaking his head.

"You have not seen only four, you just only remember four. And if someone has a problem with you giving some guy a quarter, fuck them. You'll tell them to fuck off and I'll tell them to fuck off." Joey frowns and drinks some more water. "Okay though, someone might say something, yeah. You think they'd interview the homeless person? You think they'd pay them for the interview?"

Justin's not drunk, not heavily, but he's not sober either. He tries to ignore the pink on the couch and the little pink and green diamond shapes on the carpet. Instead he looks at Joey and thinks, 'here we are.'

Justin's turning 24 and Joey's got a kid. Here they are, everything comfortable, ridiculous layers of history between them, and Joey still engaged to be married. Justin swallows, he should probably have headed back with Chris instead of Joey, ages ago. Justin hates hindsight.

Joey puts down his water and looks over at him. "So. This is nice."

"Yeah," Justin nods at him, "it is." He doesn't want to ask, but he also does. "No Kelly this time?"

"Ahh." Joey shrugs and looks back at his water. "Yes, well, Kelly and I aren't really doing that anymore. "

"Oh," is about all Justin can manage.

"Yeah," Joey shakes his head. "It's complicated."

There's a pause when Justin realizes he has no idea what to say. He swallows. "Have you told anyone about this?"

"I keep meaning to," Joey shrugs at him. "I really keep planning to."

Justin's not sure if he needs to ask more about it to get the information or if he's even allowed. Joey looks over at him and shakes his head.

"It really isn't that horrible or anything. It's probably even a good thing. We had a fight, a little fight about some stuffed animal of Briahna's and then we got over it and it was fine. I got up the next morning, I made breakfast, and Kelly ate the eggs with ketchup the way she always does. But then she just looks over at me and asks if I think we'll be able to do this in ten years."

"Do what?"

"Have a fight, a little fight, have it be okay. Cook each other eggs." Joey taps his water bottle as he lists them. "All those things. I started to say yes, but then. I don't know. We both knew if we said yes we'd be lying."

Justin's nodding along as Joey speaks. He looks up when Joey doesn't say anything more. "Are you sad? Are you okay?"

"I'm okay." Joey keeps rubbing his hand along his thigh and watching it move back and forth. "I'm definitely okay. I'm just not sure what I'm doing now."

"Yeah," Justin keeps nodding his head. "Yes. But they say that sometimes that's the best place to be."

[XII]

15

Years later. Justin likes to say it's the part after they've walked into the sunset, which is typical Justin and something Joey rolls his eyes over whenever he's around other people-- and doesn't roll his eyes over when he remembers it on his own. Fifteen years later and there's an apartment in New York. Joey lives in it mostly, but there are two names on the papers and they went together with the realtor to look at it and Joey hadn't done that before, ever, not together.

He thinks he's older, Briahna's certainly older, Justin's certainly older. He hopes he's changed, more than a bit, but he can never really tell for sure. He does think he's learned something in the process, so that's got to say something.

30

Days since he's last seen Justin. Over a month on the calendar. Briahna's visited and complained about his cooking and brought early Christmas presents. Lance has phoned on a regular basis to ask his opinion about some blues singer he wants to produce and Joey's mother is starting to think about moving into an Assisted Living Facility. Suddenly, Briahna's almost as tall as Joey is and wants to talk about colleges and majors, trying to convince him to let her go to school abroad. That's when Joey knows he's old.

45

Hours since he last spoke with Justin. He's flying in at 3:22 am on the twenty-second, which leaves Joey no time to try and find a Christmas present for him, or nothing good. But he's tired of the shopping. Mainly he's focused on the calendar, on the countdown. He hasn't seen him in a month. It's Christmas.

60

Minutes after they get into the limo, they make it back to the apartment. Justin's wearing a hat, a scarf, a long black coat and Joey gets to unwrap him first. Layer after layer until he's just Justin. Standing there in their front hallway next to the coat rack, two steps from the stairs, pulling at Joey's shoulder until Joey is tight against him and Justin can work his hands around and into Joey's back pockets.

Justin keeps talking as Joey kisses him. He pulls back every few seconds to say something and then to push back in again. He talks about Joey's current show, the plane ride, about the song he wrote for Joey that he wants him to hear. Joey just keeps his hands on Justin's waist, keeps pulling him closer and further into the apartment. "Hey," he says. "Hey." He touches Justin's arm. "You're here, I missed you. Merry Christmas."

In the morning, Justin fixes him eggs.


End file.
